


Whisked Away

by Shapeshifter99



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Shot, Post Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapeshifter99/pseuds/Shapeshifter99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his 'revival', a now demon-Dean stays away from Sam and Cas for six whole months. But all bad things must come to an end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whisked Away

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post here: http://talesfromanunknownspacecraft.tumblr.com/post/88337288826/what-if-dean-doesnt-tell-sam-and-cas-that-hes-alive  
> In any case, this isn't exactly a 'fix-it', but it's kinda how I want season 10 to start. I JUST WANT TEAM FREE WILL TOGETHER AGAIN OK?  
> And since Cain ended up being an okay guy, I think that Dean would still be extremely similar to how he was when he was a human.

Crowley whisks Dean away before Sam and Cas can find out he’s still alive. Well, ‘alive’ being the optimal word here.

“They wouldn’t accept you as you are now,” the King of Hell tells him as he teleports them to- somewhere, Dean isn’t sure where. “You’re better off with me.”

Dean doesn’t answer, tightens his fists grimly. Being a demon doesn’t seem all that different to how he was before; he can still feel, can still yearn. But there’s an undercurrent of darkness, whispering voices that are reminiscent of when he was human and had the Mark of Cain. He wants to go find his brother and Cas, to tell them that it’s okay, he’s still here. But he knows that it isn’t a good idea. This... Change, it’s an opportunity for him to separate himself from them entirely. To keep them safe.

So instead of punching Crowley in the face and finding his way back to the Bunker, the new Knight of Hell lifts his black eyes, and utters quietly, “What do you want me to do?”

 

\---

 

It isn’t so bad, at first. Dean has no illusions about what Crowley’s using him for, a pet, his own personal hound to sniff out rebellion and stop it in its tracks. But in return, the King gives him free reign of what he does and where he goes, so he ends up spending his free time doing what he does best; hunting.

Somehow, it’s so much easier. He slices and cuts his way through werewolves, white women, vampires, rugarous... Anything and everything that is a threat to humanity. The only difference is that Dean’s face is still impassive when he kills the children too.

He takes on a new name as well, to keep Sam and Cas in the dark. Caio, a derivative of Cain. Crowley had been all over it, declaring enthusiastically that it also sounded like chaos, and that this new name would be burnished with fear into the hearts of all demons (Dean’s always thought the King was a bit over-dramatic).

Months pass, until it’s been nearly half a year since Dean was turned. He’s getting better and better at his ‘job’, finding it easier to summon up the bloodlust he needed to kill his opponents, but underneath it all is a perpetual, aching sorrow.

He’s a demon now, but still, he misses. He misses his room, he misses the Impala, he misses how pie used to taste, he misses the Bunker, he misses Sam and Cas. The latter is the most prominent of all his wants, an itch he can’t scratch, a seductive voice that whispers to him that he could just take a peek, sneak into the Bunker in the middle of the night and check on them.

But he dismisses the idea coldly, squashes down the feelings until they’re buried beneath a writhing mass of dark thoughts. Crowley seems to sense it when he’s during these ‘missing’ stages, and more often than not drops a quick line on how they’re doing so much better without him, are healthy and happy.

It shouldn’t make Dean grieve, but it does. He’s poison, after all. Why wouldn’t they be better off without him?

So he stoically stays away from Sam and Cas, and even refuses to hear anything about them. The only information he gets is that the angels are regrouping, and organizing themselves even without a leader.

Dean sometimes wonders if Cas is up there with them.

 

\---

 

Dean comes across Sam completely on accident. His moron of a brother ends up cornered by a few demons (and yeah, he is so gonna kill Crowley when he returns to Hell). He steps into the room right before they’re about to slit his throat.

“Caio?” one of them squeaks in shock, his hideous true face distorting in shock beneath the dark-haired man he wears as he pulls away the knife from an unconscious Sam.

Dean glares at them, and he reaches for the First Blade. “What are you doing?” he rumbles as he draws out the animal bone, still stained with the blood of the countless monsters he’s killed over the past few months.

“The King told us to nab him!” another demon speaks up bravely, but her eyes are watching the Blade with wide and wary eyes.

Dean smiles grimly. “And let me guess,” he says slowly, twirling the blade teasingly. “He told you guys, to not tell me.”

The third and last demon nods his head slowly, relaxing. It’s pitiful how they think that because the blame’s been pinned on Crowley, they’re going to live.

The grin fading from his face is their only warning before he lunges forward and promptly stabs one of them. In one swift movement, he swipes it to the side, decapacitating the woman in the shower of blood. He stops just as quickly as he began, waiting patiently for the last demon to hightail it out of there, and no doubt tell Crowley what had just transpired.

But the moment he’s gone, Dean drops the Blade and rushes to Sam’s side. His little brother is collapsed on the ground, and it’s only when Dean slowly tugs him upright that he sees that something is very, very wrong. Sam’s skin is sallow and unhealthy-looking, pulled tight over his face and making him look gaunt. There are purplish bruises under his eyes, clearly from lack of sleep, and his normally well-tended hair is dull and greasy. Even the sasquatch’s clothes hang loose on his towering frame, no sight of the strong muscle that Sam used to keep by going out on those stupid morning jogs.

The sight of his brother like this ignites a feeling in Dean that he hasn’t experienced since he turned; fear. A sickly, tainted fear that crawls up his throat and clogs his mind until he fears that he won’t be able to breathe.

“Sammy!” he says roughly, shaking his brother’s shoulder as all thoughts of keeping his survival secret are thrown to the wind. “Sam!”

To his relief, the younger Winchester stirs.

“Wha-” he murmurs, his voice hoarse as his eyes open slowly. When they finally focus on Dean’s face, Sam freezes.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean says quietly, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. “It’s good to see y-”

In hindsight, he should have expected the punch. The impact makes his head snap backwards, and he reels away as Sam gets to his feet.

“What the hell!” he shouts out, palming his jaw as he glares at Sam.

The younger Winchester just shakes his head, face pale and his eyes wide and horrified. “You’re not-” he stutters, stepping away from Dean. “You’re not real. You can’t be real. You’re-” He swallows hard.

Dean raises his arms placatingly, his expression turning concerned when he sees how wobbly Sam is on his feet. “Sam,” he warns gently. “It’s me.”

Sam shakes his head vehemently again. “No,” he gasps out. “My brother’s dead. He was killed by Metatron.”

“I _was_ ,” Dean corrects. “Crowley brought me back a little...” This time, it’s his turn to swallow. “A little different, Sammy. I didn’t want to scare you.”

Sam stares at him as if he’s crazy. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

Dean takes a deep breath. Showtime. “Apparently, there’s more to the Mark of Cain than what he told me,” he says unyieldingly. “It... Changed me more than I thought it would.” He lets his eyes turn black.

For a brief moment, Sam just looks at his eyes, uncomprehending. Then his face twists, becoming malicious and furious. “Get the hell outta my brother!” he bellows.

Dean takes a small step back, startled. “No, Sam-” he tries to say, but his brother cuts him off.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” Sam practically shouts at him. “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, et secta diabolica-”

There’s a twisting sensation in his gut, but Dean knows that he can’t be exorcised. For one thing, he’s a Knight of Hell, and secondly, this is his own body. He can only leave it if he’s willing.

“Sam, stop!” he growls. “It isn’t going to do anything!”

But Sam forges on, and despite everything, Dean can’t help but still be a little bit impressed with his nerd brother.

“Ergo draco maledicte et sectio, ergo draco maledicte et ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te...” Sam’s voice begins to trail off. “Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque...”

“Sam,” Dean says gently, stepping forward. “It’s me. Well, different me. But me.”

Sam stops reciting the exorcism at last, and the queasy feeling in his stomach fades as well. His eyes flicker back to green. “Dean?” Sam mumbles, disbelieving and still wary.

Dean bites his lip and nods, feeling strange, unbidden tears threatening to spring up in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “It’s me. You can even ask Crowley, if you want.”

Sam stares at him for a moment, then draws his fist back and punches him in the face again. Dean could’ve stopped him, but he doesn’t. He deserves it.

“How long?” Sam demands. Dean’s eyes skirt away guiltily. “ _How long?!_ ” Sam shouts when he doesn’t reply.

Dean’s gaze lifts, even. “Six months.”

“Six mo-” Sam shakes his head and turns away, every line in his body taut and aggressive. Dean waits the silence out, wary and uncertain. “Crowley?”

Dean shrugs his shoulders. “I think so, yeah. I woke up in the Bunker, on my bed, and he whisked me away before I could do anything.”

Sam turns back towards him, his hazel eyes angry and betrayed. “And afterwards?” he says in a cutting voice, taking a step forwards. “You didn’t even think about coming back, about fucking _telling_ me that you were alive?”

Dean feels his own anger flare up. “Of course I did!” he snaps back. “How could you think I would be a-okay with leaving you in the dark?! But Crowley told me that you and Cas were fine, that you were grieving but _coping_. So I left it alone.”

Sam looks at him incredulously. “Coping?” he bites out. “You thought we were _coping_? I thought you were _dead_ , Dean! And as far as I know, Cas does too! I’ve tried to talk to him, to get him down from Heaven, but the angels I’ve spoken to told me that he’s shut himself off completely from everyone else. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, just sits in some quiet corner of Heaven and mourns. For _you!_ Hannah told me that he hasn’t even tried to find more grace so he can keep on living.”

Dean stares at his brother, feeling an acidic taste rising in the back of his throat. “What?” he says feebly.

Sam shakes his head. “He’s not dead yet, I think,” he heaves out, his voice softening. “But do you see now? What you did to us?”

Dean just nods his head once, feeling his throat choke up. But now, there’s something else besides his sudden shame and relief at seeing his brother again.

 _Cas_. The name thrums in his bones, in his marrow, a worried, steady mantra. _Gotta find Cas._  

“I need to find him.” His voice sounds strange to his own ears, but when he glances up at Sam, his brother’s face is understanding, and serious.

“I know. But you have to promise that you’ll-” Sam’s voice cracks slightly. “You have to promise you’ll come back. We can fix this, Dean. Make you human again.”

“‘Course,” Dean replies, his own voice rough. They stand there in an awkward silence for a moment before Sam steps forward and wraps his arms around Dean.

Despite everything, Dean is surprised. He’s a demon now, even more twisted and fucked up than he was before. And yet...

Sam pulls away, and sniffs once before giving his brother a watery smile. “It’s good to have you back, Dean,” he says quietly, and the demon’s heart nearly breaks at the sincerity in his words.

Dean tilts his head in return, and whisks himself away.

 

\---

 

The first thing he tries is to summon Hannah. He doesn’t have to wait long after he tries the ritual that Crowley taught him; the angel shows up a few mere minutes, and it reminds Dean fondly of how it took Cas over an hour to come the first time they met.

Hannah arrives in a quiet flutter of wings, and Dean’s suddenly shocked to realize that the angels must no longer be fallen.

She’s still in the same vessel she was wearing when Dean saw her last, but there’s her shining true form underneath, a tangle of light and feathers and beast. Dean doesn’t look too closely, feeling his demonized soul give a little shudder of disgust at her arrival.

When she sees him, she stills.

“Hey, Hannah,” Dean says curtly. “How long’s it been?”

Her blue eyes widen. “Dean Winchester,” she breathes out. “But how-”

“All in good time, sweetheart,” Dean cuts her off.

“You’re a demon.” It isn’t a question. But Dean already knew that angels could see his true form; it just takes him by surprise when he realizes that Cas is going to see the same thing Hannah does. The thought hurts.

“Yeah, so I’ve been told,” he says stiffly. He walks towards her. “Where’s Cas?” When she doesn’t reply immediately, he glowers at her, feeling a wash of anger and righteousness and sudden panic flood his twisted being. “Where is he?” he hisses out, fear still nestled in his chest like a trembling, cornered animal.

“Alive,” is her clipped response. “In Heaven.”

Dean feels the relief wash over him in a dizzying wave. _Alive_.

“I want to see Cas,” he says, keeping his voice light. “I need you to take me to him.”

Her expression tightens, and her eyes narrow. “Why should I?” Her words are rebellious, and Dean feels the urge to punch her in the face.

He takes another step, towering over her threateningly. “Because if it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t be in this whole mess,” he snarls at her, and enjoys it when she flinches slightly. “If you hadn’t made Cas choose, Metatron would have been dead a whole lot quicker, and none of this would have happened.” Then he smiles, and his eyes turn inky black. “And I’m a bit bitter about the ‘make Cas torture me’ thing.”

Her eyes lower. Satisfied, Dean steps back, and his eyes return to their normal forest green color with a blink. “I just need to talk to him. Tell him what happened to me and let him know I’m...” _That I’m sorry. That I miss him. That I need him._ “That I’m alive.”

Hannah eyes him warily, and her arms cross over her chest. “Alright,” she says reluctantly.

Dean cocks his head. “Well, that was easy,” he remarks smoothly.

Hannah glares at him sharply. “It’s not for you,” she says coldly. “It’s for Castiel.”

Dean scowls back at her, but doesn’t react when she reaches out and grasps his arm reluctantly. He bends his knees automatically, and then there’s the brief sensation of flying.

A heartbeat later, he finds himself in the middle of a verdant forest. The colors are bright and vibrant, and Dean has to blink a few times to get used to them. Hannah is still by his side. He takes a step to the left, and branches crack beneath his feet.

“Where are we?” he asks suspiciously.

Hannah heaves out a sigh. “Castiel has remained here for the past months. Refusing to see or talk to anyone, except me.”

Dean feels a twinge of irritation. “I get it, you’re a special snowflake to him,” he says snidely.

Hannah shoots him a sharp, stern look. “When I said that, I didn’t mean that he’s been having conversations with me,” she says, her voice frigid. Dean can practically see the frost of her breath. “I check on him every once in a while, and he tells me to leave him alone. That’s it.”

Dean’s anger deflates, and his fingers rub against his leg uncomfortably. “How’s he been?” he asks meekly.

Hannah starts to walk, and Dean falls into step beside her easily. “Terrible,” she replies, her voice becoming gentle and worried in a way that still makes Dean bristle slightly. “He’s refused to talk about-” She glances at him and clears her throat before continuing. “About what happened, and it seems as if he’s just... Waiting.”

Dean frowns. “Waiting for what?”

Hannah clasps her hands and her gaze lowers to the lush grass beneath their feet for a brief instant. “Waiting to die.”

It’s definitely not what he wants to hear. He immediately halts, and feels a splinter of agony in his chest. “What?” he says dumbly, as if he hadn’t heard her.

Hannah breathes out a melancholy sigh. “I won’t repeat why I said.”

“But-” Dean says, floundering for a lifeline in the sudden sea of emotion he’s been dropped into. “Why?”

Hannah shrugs. “I think it’s best if he told you,” she says.

Dean doesn’t say anything after that. This sudden knowledge weighs him down like an anchor, and all he can think as Hannah leads him deeper into the forest is Why?

The trees, while still lush, become more closely packed, making the sunlight filter through chlorophyll-green leaves and shading certain areas from the summer heat. The grass gets shorter as well, but it’s still thick, and moss starts to cushion their footfalls as well.

Finally, there’s a brighter light ahead, from a clearing, and Hannah stops walking. “He should be there,” she indicated the clearing. “And be gentle with him.”

Dean puffs up in irritation, but the angel is gone before he can say something in return. He pauses, his eyes returning to the warm sunny light ahead.

 _Cas is **there**_ , is what rises in his mind first. It suddenly feels as if his sole purpose is to go and find him, to let him know the truth. But a thick knot wedges itself in his throat, and he glances downwards on instinct. It’s his body, the body of Dean Winchester the hunter... But beneath it now lies the 'soul' of a demon.

Unsurprisingly, what worries him most about seeing Cas again is how the angel is going to react. To be honest, he’s hoping that at max there’ll be some anger, but nothing smite-worthy, and that Dean’ll get a chance to say he’s sorry before anything else.

With that in mind, Dean takes a deep breath, and starts to carefully make his way to the clearing. There’s a light breeze that cools his fever-hot skin and soothes his rattled nerves, and Dean wonders if Cas chose this place on purpose. If he himself wanted to forget something, he would have come to a place like this as well; a place where it’s easy to forget.

He finally emerges into the sunlight, blinking and squinting at the bright rays that envelop the clearing. For a brief moment, he doesn’t see Cas, and feels panic well up in his chest. Had Hannah lied? Or was Cas already-

He stops the thought in its tracks, both because he can’t bear to think of that possibility, and because he’s spotted a familiar trenchcoat.

Cas is facing away from him, sitting on a random rock that’s placed in the center of the grassy area. Even from here Dean can see the way his shoulders are slack and tired, and how the angel’s head is lowered, in exhaustion or despair he can’t say.

But despite the appearance of his angel, there’s an explosion of hope and relief in his chest, that drowns out even the whispers of the Mark, and Dean takes a step forward, a greeting nearly on his lips.

“Hannah.”

Castiel’s voice makes him stop. It’s tired and emotionless, the way your voice becomes after carrying the weight of the world and loss at the same time. Dean should know.

“I told you, please leave me alone,” the angel heaves out, his voice turning strained. “I don’t want to talk.”

Dean feels the blossom in his heart threaten to wither and die. But he puts on a brave face, and says, gently as he can, “Hey, Cas.”

There’s a heartbeat of... Nothing. Dean’s own breath catches in his throat as he waits. Cas’ body freezes as well, before the angel’s head lifts. He doesn’t turn around, and for that, Dean is stupidly grateful.

“Dean?” His voice is shaky, disbelieving, and the demon is reminded of Sam’s reaction when he saw Dean alive as well.

He takes a deep breath. “Cas.”

Cas’ head tilts, achingly familiar even from the back, as if he’s trying to catch the sound of Dean’s voice. Dean takes a step towards him, hand reaching out, but he stops when Cas slowly gets to his feet. He winces inwardly at how slowly the angel does it, as if he’s an old man instead of inhabiting the body of young, handsome accountant who had long since passed on.

He finally turns, and Dean feels the breath suddenly whoosh out of him in one go.

Cas’ true form is... Breathtaking, to say the least. Dean can see his physical form as well, familiar blue eyes that are dull with grief, mussed dark hair and pale, fragile-looking skin. But beneath the vessel is a delicate, gentle being that is nothing at all like Hannah. Cas is silvery-blue weaves of light and sound, singing softly and loudly at the same time. Multiple wings sprout from him, shimmery and ethereal as he curls up in his vessel, and Dean sees a vast multitude of faces staring back at him. But despite his beauty, Dean can see that Cas is weak. There’s none of the vibrancy that Hannah had, nor the strength that made it seem as if the vessel itself was about to crack open and release this powerful being. And despite everything, the demon part of him cringes away from this creature that could have once destroyed him with a warm palm against his forehead.

“Dean,” Cas says, and the hunter in question starts, bringing his attention back to the surface plane, to the angel’s wide blue eyes. It’s only then that Dean notices that Cas is shaking, a minute trembling that makes him want to hug the angel, to tell him everything’s okay.

But Cas’ gaze is horrified, and Dean knows what he sees. Ashamed, and feeling more naked than he ever has before, Dean looks away, his jaw clenching tightly.

Cas steps towards him, his arm lifting slightly, as if to touch Dean’s face. “No,” he breathes in disbelief.

Dean’s eyes dart to the angel’s, then away again. “I know,” he says stiffly.

Cas’ hand clenches and he pulls it back. “Crowley?” he asks lowly, his blue eyes sparking to life with anger.

Dean shrugs. “He wouldn’t really explain, just that it had something to do with the Mark,” he replies.

Cas’ lips thin slightly, but his gaze softens as he stares at Dean. “I thought-” he begins to say, before stopping.

Dean nods his head. “Hannah told me,” he explains quietly.

The angel tilts his own head once, as if thinking about it. “Everything?” he says finally.

“No,” Dean answers. “No. Just that you, uh. That you knew.”

Cas blinks once, a sardonic smile creeping onto his face. “Ah,” he says bitterly. “Right. That I knew you were dead.” The words are heavy with sorrow, and Cas turns away for a moment.

“And how long, exactly, have you been... Like this?” the angel asks, speaking to the trees.

Dean stares at him somberly. “Six months.”

Castiel tenses. “Six months?” he says, making it sound more like a question than the betrayal Dean knows it is.

The hunter swallows uncomfortably. “Yeah.”

“So basically, you’ve been back since the day you died,” Cas’ gravel rough voice heightens in incredulity, and he turns back towards Dean.

Dean nods. Castiel lets out a long, shuddering breath, and drags a hand over his face. When it pulls away, the hunter is horrified to see his blue eyes gleaming with unshed tears, and feels the overwhelming urge to brush them away and fold the angel into his arms. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Cas' voice is quiet, uncertain, and most of all, hurt. The exact same reaction as Sam’s, but on a completely different scope of emotion.

Guiltiness tugs at Dean's conciousness. “I thought you’d be better off,” He replies, trying to keep his voice passive, emotionless.

The angel stares at him as if he’s an idiot. “You thought...” he say slowly, disbelieving. “That I’d be ‘better off’, thinking you were dead?”

Dean smiles humorlessly. “I’m poison, remember? And besides, I knew that you wouldn’t be too accepting of... This,” he says, gesturing at himself.

Castiel’s expression tightens, and his fists clench. “Do you really believe that it matters to me?” he hisses out, blue eyes boring into Dean’s. “Do you know how I found out? Metatron. He chained me to his chair, and told me that he had _killed_ you. That I was helpless to save you. His blade was-” He shivers from the memory. “It was drenched in your blood, Dean. And I thought that you-” The angel’s voice breaks. “I thought that I’d lost you. It was the most unbearable thought I’d ever had. When I was freed, I couldn’t think of anything but of your cold corpse for weeks.”

Dean winces at that, and Cas steps closer to him, until they’re practically nose to nose, and the demon can feel his angel’s heated breath fanning over his neck. A small shiver travels down his back, partly because of his demonic side cringing and the rest... Something else entirely. 

“So ask me again,” Cas spits, his eyes and grace blazing. “Would it matter to me whether or not you were a demon?”

Dean doesn’t reply, his gaze sliding away as he remains mute and Cas lets out a world-weary sigh. He moves to take a step back, but at that moment, his fading grace flickers wildly, something that the newly-turned demon can detect with frightening ease, and he stumbles. Dean immediately reaches out to catch him, his concern and worry flaring up as his hands close around arms that are thinner than he remembers. The angel lets him pull him closer to his chest so he can keep him upright for a few moments while he watches his breath, and doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s tentativeness.

But Cas doesn’t move away either, instead pressing his face against Dean’s shoulder as he breathes hard. He feels a stir of pity and worry move his changed soul, and his lips purse slightly as he recalls what Hannah said to him earlier. 

“Hannah told me you’re dying,” Dean murmurs lowly, his arms tightening reflexively around Cas.

Cas chuckles hoarsely at that, and sags more heavily against Dean. “Didn’t really see a point in continuing my existence,” is all he says in reply.

Dean growls in response to the angel’s words. “Don’t say that,” he chides as he carefully helps Cas to the rock he’d been sitting on. The grace stops flickering, but Cas is... Dimmer than before. It scares the demon more than he can admit, to see Cas so feeble and his grace so subdued, but he fight down his panic so as not to alert Cas. “Why didn’t you go find Sam?” Despite his efforts, the words are clipped with concern. 

Cas turns his face away. “I couldn’t face him, not when I thought what happened was my fault.” His voice is sorrowful and Dean briefly brushes his fingers against the back of the angel's hand to get his attention.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice kind and trying not to betray the frustration he feels. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s. Except Metatron’s, obviously.” And Crowley’s.

Cas nods, his head lowering, and Dean sits down next to him. There’s a moment of silence, where Dean continues to peek at the angel from under his lashes uncertainly. It's strangely natural, to see his vision oscillate between Cas' lustreless blue eyes and the dim grace being that lies beneath, but at the same time weird and uncanny. Especially with the state he's in.  

“Sam said we’re going to find a way to fix this,” he says finally, feeling obligated to break the silence, but at the same time yearning to hear Cas' rough voice.

“We’d better,” Cas rumbles tiredly. “Despite everything I said, I prefer you as a human.”

Dean cocks his head. “Yeah, me too. But what I’m trying to say is... Maybe we could find a way to fix your grace as well.”

_I can’t lose you again._

Castiel lets out a sigh. “There’s no point, Dean. Even if there was a way to save me, my life would hardly be worth it.”

Dean’s brow furrows. “That’s not true,” he says sharply. Cas, startled, glances back at him. “You’re important. To me. And, uh Sam. Us,” he adds in afterthought, feeling an unfamiliar flush covering his neck.

Cas just blinks at him.

Dean bumps his shoulder against the trenchcoat-clad one gently. “Do you remember the crypt?”

Castiel’s eyes darken. “How could I forget?”

Dean pauses for a moment, feeling an itch of pain as he realizes he brought up yet another memory Cas obviously isn’t too fond of. But it’s necessary. “Yeah, well, do you remember what I said that night?” he says softly. “I need you, Cas.” He grins slightly. “And I hope that you’d rather have me, cursed or not.”

Cas’ confused stare melts into a mix of gentleness and sorrow. He reaches out, and Dean stiffens slightly, but the angel just lays his hand on Dean’s and intertwines their fingers together. Dean stares down at their hands, and wonders at the irony of an angel and a demon holding hands. But he can’t really bring himself to care, so he just squeezes gently.

“If you haven’t guessed it yet,” Cas says quietly, meeting his gaze. “I need you too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you thought, and if there are any typos, please point them out so I can correct them!


End file.
